Jumping Bones
by DwightK.Schrute
Summary: Stiles tries to help Scott get over Allison, but to no avail. When he finally goes home, a much less friendly werewolf is waiting for him. At first Derek seems to only want to use Stiles, to get Scott on his side. Then Stiles realizes there's more to it, and is skeeved. But not for long, because Scott needs his help. Yep. That's the only reason he decides to "work" with the Alpha.
1. Stiles ain't havin' NONE of this

_**A/N: So this is the first part. It's not beta'd, but I tried to proofread it the best I could at 2 in the morning. I don't know how many parts there's going to be, but I'm going to try to get the rest out before the new episode. I don't really know what else to say. Bon appétit?**_

Ever since Allison had become the head of the Argent family, vowed to kill Derek, and told Scott that if he stood in the way she wouldn't spare him, she had been distant. Scott didn't really seem to get it, but then, Stiles had known he wasn't the brightest penny in the pile.

Scott, not wanting to believe it was well and truly over, was avoiding Allison. He pretended that everything was okay while simultaneously refusing to acknowledge the girl beyond a wave or a smile that only earned him a pitying glance on her part. He refused to let her actually say the words, to admit between the both of them that what they had was finished.

But then the text came. Scott had pretended childishly that he hadn't got it, but Allison had begun completely ignoring him, refusing to meet his eyes or acknowledge that he was a living, breathing person and not an inanimate object. Scott had showed it to Stiles; it was nice, as far as break-up texts went.

_Scott, I am sorry. I tried to do this in person, but you wouldn't let me. As long as you are a werewolf, I can't be with you. Since you can't do anything about it, since you will always be what you are, then we're over. Forever. Please don't call. It will be easier if you don't._

Scott hadn't called. But he'd held his phone, staring at it for hours on end, waiting for her to call. He wanted her to say that it had all been a mistake, but if she couldn't say that, then he just wanted to hear her voice again. Scott's mom had taken his phone away, thankfully, but his moping continued.

Stiles couldn't take it anymore. It was just so… sad. And nothing he could do would pull Scott out of his funk. After Scott's parents had gotten divorced, it had been difficult to cheer him up, but eventually Stiles' buffoonery made him normal again, if not happy. But now it was downright impossible. The were-boy had been so sure that he and Allison would make it. Hell, he had even mentioned marriage, and saying that after his parents' messy divorce? That was love right there.

So maybe a broken heart would take longer to mend. Stiles just had to live with that. But he also had to keep trying, because if he didn't, then who would? It's not like Scott had any other friends who were as devoted and as funny as Stiles.

But after a couple of days of failed attempts at distracting his best friend, Stiles need a well-deserved break. He needed to go home, sleep in his own bed and not on Scott's floor, and he needed to watch some TV because he was getting behind on his shows.

Stiles' dad was watching TV when he walked in, so he obviously couldn't do that right away. The sheriff asked a few questions—how was Scott, how was Stiles, how long was he going to be home before he went back over—and after answering him, Stiles decided to leave his father in peace. His badge had been reinstated, after the incident at the police station that he had been witness to, the same incident he promised to sweep under the rug. Now Sheriff Stilinski looked wrecked, from all his under-the-rug sweeping.

After eating some of the cold, crusty mac and cheese his dad had made for dinner (not exactly a wise health choice, but Stiles was willing to overlook it since he hadn't been here to provide his father alternatives), Stiles trudged upstairs, back pack and sleeping bag trailing behind him. All he wanted to do now was take a quick shower and then fall face-first into his sheets. He needed to regain his energy, because right now, his brain was dead. He was so far gone that not even his ADHD could cause him problems.

Any hope he had of having a relatively peaceful night were dashed against the plate glass window of irony as soon as Stiles flipped the light on to his room. He had left one werewolf, only to come home to another, who was currently on his bed, creeping in the dark. Yes, Derek Hale was sitting cross-legged on Stiles' bed, his eyes piercingly bright even with the light on.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles gasped, after shutting the door and folding back against it. He was really too tired for this. "Why is the universe working against me, and not against Allison? Why isn't she the one being drop-kicked down a flight of karma stairs?"

Derek merely blinked at him coldly, waiting for Stiles to get himself together, because he wasn't the empathetic type.

"Just, tell me what you're here for," Stiles said finally, cutting the dramatics to a minimum when he took into account his exhausted state. Derek would understand that his sarcasm wasn't at its peak. "It's going to be bad anyway, might as well throw it on the pile waiting to be torched."

"Peter's back. Lydia resurrected him. Jackson made a deal with Gerard Argent after his tether to Matt was broken. So now Peter's going to be coming after me, to reclaim his Alpha status, and Gerard's going to be coming after me, using the Kamina to destroy me and my pack."

Stiles stared open-mouthed at Derek. Even he hadn't been expecting that, and he had been expecting the absolute worst.

"How in the world am I supposed to help you with that? It's not like I have a magic wand that I can wave around to make this all go away. Although, that would be pretty-"

"I need you to be on my side, when the time comes," Derek said gruffly, apparently not in the mood either for Stiles' antics. "With Allison gone, there's no reason for Scott to be defiant any longer. Once he notices that you have given your allegiances to me, you will convince him to do the same."

"Why should I help you though? I think letting them kill you would be one problem off our backs."

Derek gritted his teeth, as if that statement had actually _hurt. _"How long will it be before Gerard convinces Allison to kill Scott?" he bit out. "How long will Scott last after Peter becomes Alpha? I'm not like Peter, in case you haven't noticed. _He _won't let people choose whether or not they want to be in his pack.

"And do you honestly think you're safe, in the middle of all this? You're the first person Gerard and Peter are going to get their hands on, once they realize how vulnerable you are with me gone and Scott otherwise occupied."

"Oh, so you're saying I'm a liability?" Stiles muttered.

"No, I'm saying _you're not safe. _I'm trying to protect you."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Whatever, you just said you're going to use me to get Scott on your side."

"Yes, after I initiate you into my pack."

"What?" Stiles blanched. "Wait, you're going to give me the Bite, aren't you? Oh God, you're the Alpha now, you can totally do it."

Derek shook his head. He wasn't looking at Stiles now. He was looking anywhere else in the room, anywhere _but _at Stiles.

With Derek looking around, Stiles was compelled to do the same. He suddenly noticed the state of his room, how it was much messier than when he'd last left it. All of his clothes had been dragged out of his hamper and from his dresser, and were now on his bed. Derek was perched on top of them, like a creepy little hawk.

"What's with the clothes-hoarding there, buddy? You making a nest?"

Derek didn't look amused. Was he blushing? Maybe just a little?

"No."

If Stiles hadn't been dead in the head from trying restlessly to help Scott, he would have caught on sooner. Derek had tried to tell him, in his own drawn out, confusing, dancing around the subject way. He had shown concern for Stiles' safety, had creeped on Stiles, waiting for him to leave Scott's side, and he had collected Stiles' clothes around him, as if claiming them as his own, putting his scent all over them, _marking _them.

"Oh good God," Stiles said, with breathless horror. "You want to jump my bones, don't you? That's how you plan to initiate me. By making me your _mate._"

END CHAPTER ONE


	2. Derek needs to cool his jets

_**A/N: Yep, so here's part 2. It's just a little tidbit in Derek's POV. It might be OOC, but I hope it's not so terrible. I'm not sure if this fic will end up full-on Sterek, because I've never written it before, but it will definitely be hot.**_

Derek was glad Stiles had finally caught on. It saved him a lot of trouble. And words.

But Stiles was wrong on one count. Derek didn't need to mate with Stiles, even though he desperately wanted to. He just needed to mark him as his territory, because right now, he smelled like Scott, as if Stiles was his property, and Scott was worthless at the moment.

Derek watched the boy, who was now sitting with his back pressed into the door like he wanted to phase through it, his eyes wide and his breath caught in his throat. Derek listened to the sound of Stiles' heart, which fluttered like a panicked hummingbird in his chest. He could feel the wolf clawing at the back of his eyes, wanting to take control of the situation, wanting to take _Stiles._

At first, Derek hadn't felt a strong connection at all to Stiles. It had been the wolf that had liked him, for whatever reason. But as the wolf grew fonder, it wanted to follow the sheriff's son around, catch a whiff of his scent, or listen to the delicious sound of the bloody organ thrumming in Stiles' chest.

It became difficult for Derek to pull apart his emotions and determine which ones were truly his and which ones were the wolf's. Eventually they blended together, until the wolf's emotions were his own. Now, as Derek stared into Stiles' wide, warm brown eyes, watched the blood flow more fully into the boy's face so it flushed a lovely shade of red, and felt his own mouth ache and water, he knew that it wasn't just the wolf anymore that wanted Stiles. He felt a dull pain in his stomach that was radiating downward in waves of intense arousal, and he felt things stir that hadn't stirred in quite a while.

Derek closed his eyes, held his breath, blocked out the sound, and was finally able to gain control of himself. He could feel Stiles watching him, felt the prickling of hairs standing up on the back of his neck, and knew that being in the room alone with this kid was far from a good idea.

However, the desperate need he felt to keep Stiles safe overpowered the wolf's lust. Bad things were coming, and it wasn't safe for him to depend on Scott as his only means of protection, especially since Scott knew very little about pack dynamics and didn't know that Stiles was tied to him and could be used against him.

Derek had to break that tie and get Stiles under his own protection. He tried to convince himself that it was only because Stiles and Scott were in danger, but the harsh tug Derek felt in his chest at the thought of Stiles being hurt told him otherwise.

Suddenly Derek became aware of Stiles standing up, still pressed into the door, eying Derek as his hand felt for the doorknob. He was scared—Derek could smell it rolling off of him like thick clouds of smoke that obscured his own thoughts—and he was going to try to escape. The werewolf ignored the sadness that came at the thought of Stiles not reciprocating his feelings, of wanting to actually get away from him because he was _afraid _of him. It felt like a punch in the gut.

In a split second Derek was standing up, and in another he was right in front of Stiles, crowding into his face, growling low in his chest. The boy's knees almost buckled. He was fucking _trembling, _and now his scent was strong as ever, and the wolf was viciously clawing at the front of his mind. Derek could feel himself being nudged out of the way.

"Don't. Move." Derek said through gritted teeth, grabbing Stiles' upper arms and holding him still against the door. He resisted the urge to press his body flush against Stiles', to feel him and smell him and taste him.

After a minute or so, Derek was able to suppress the wolf, and he quickly let go of Stiles. The boy watched him, like a wide-eyed doe, unmoving and not breathing. That was good. He was catching on.

Derek grabbed the front of Stiles' ridiculous plaid shirt and started undoing the buttons. Stiles squawked and tried to push his hands away, but stopped when Derek glared fully into his eyes.

"The clothes you're wearing still smell like Scott," Derek explained. "I need them before I kill you."

"What? You're going to kill me?!" Stiles hissed, panicked, but apparently not wanting to alert his father.

Derek listened hard for a moment. The sheriff had fallen asleep. Derek didn't need to worry about him right now.

"I'm not going to kill you, I need them _or else _I'm going to kill you. Scott's scent is overpowering. The wolf doesn't like it."

The boy was smart, he caught on, and Derek felt him shudder at the thought of the wolf taking over. Stiles went perfectly still again, except for the occasional fearful quiver that he wasn't able to suppress. His breath was hot and heady against Derek's neck. Derek pursed his lips, because Stiles didn't know it, but he was making the perfect prey.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Derek said more to himself than to Stiles. "You just have to smell like me, and not Scott. Then the wolf will calm down."

But Stiles didn't relax. Derek decided he didn't have time to wait. He needed to do this now, not only to control the wolf, but before Scott caught on and got in the way.

Derek took a deep breath. This was probably the last time he was going to smell Stiles' scent without it being mixed with his own. He wanted to remember it.

END CHAPTER TWO


	3. Boxerbriefs and Batman pants

_**A/N: Here it is. Thanks for all the positive feedback on my first Sterek fic, by the way. I hope this last chapter will suit your fancy.**_

Stiles swallowed thickly as his plaid shirt sailed through the air and landed on his bed with the rest of his clothes. He was still wearing a dark blue t-shirt and ratty jeans, but they were to be gone soon too, because Derek was there undressing him, both literally and with his eyes.

Derek wasn't breathing, Stiles could tell, and therefore he was trying to get Stiles' clothes off as quickly as possible before he suffocated. But Stiles was clumsy and uncoordinated, and when Derek tried to yank his shirt over his head in one swift movement, it got tangled around Stiles' arms, making Derek growl when he had to pause and carefully slide the boy's arms back through and then take the shirt off with less fervor.

But once the shirt was off it went into the pile. When Stiles snapped his attention back to Derek, he saw the dude eying him up, raking his eyes over Stiles' pale, exposed chest and licking his lips. Stiles crossed his arms over himself diffidently. Derek looked like he was going to grab Stiles' arms, push them away, but he stopped himself. He stepped closer instead, placing his feet on the outside of Stiles', boxing him in against the door and being so close that it was like he was touching Stiles without actually touching him.

Derek's hands went for the fly of Stile's jeans. He unzipped them slowly, trying to catch Stiles' eyes the whole time, and Stiles couldn't help but to wonder vaguely why he wasn't undressing himself here, why he was letting Derek do it instead. Maybe because Derek was the Alpha, and Stiles was the human who could have his throat ripped out at any second. Maybe because Stiles was just too tired to think. These were great excuses, and he was going to stick by them like a farmer did his trampy daughter.

His jeans fell down off his hips, guided by Derek's calloused fingers. Stiles wanted to push the man's hands away, tell him to get his _paws _off the merchandise, but instead he wordlessly stepped out of his jeans. Derek bent down to pick up the jeans, and suddenly Stiles' head was reeling, because the werewolf had no business having his face that close to Stiles' crotch.

On his way to the bed, Derek grabbed the bag that Stiles had dropped when he walked in, which contained all the other clothes Stiles had been wearing over at Scott's house. He added them to the bed, and then climbed on.

"So, what, you're just going to sit on my clothes for a few hours? While I stand here in my Batman briefs?"

Derek just grunted at him, in a way that's answering him but not really giving him an answer.

"Why don't you just roll around a bit? Speed the process up. Dogs like rolling in things, right? I see the neighbor dog rolling in shit all the time."

The broody werewolf glared at him and growled, low and rumbling in his chest. That wasn't really an answer either.

"Is there something in that pile that's Derek'd up enough that I can put it on? It's a bit nipple-y in here."

"Why don't you just come sit next to me? I'll warm you up."

Stiles blinked, surprised, and then couldn't help the burning in his face. Derek had just made a lame attempt to _flirt _with him. Except it wasn't that lame, because it still made Stiles' face feel warm and his hands clammy.

Even though he knew the correct response was to make a snarky comment and then grab his sleeping bag and sleep on the floor, Stiles felt himself gravitate towards the bed, his arms held gawkily in front of him. Then he got to the bed and just kind of stood there uneasily, because how does one just sit in their underwear?

Derek solved that question for him by reaching out and putting his hands on Stiles' waist, and guiding the more human of the two forward so he was forced to climb on the bed, his thighs on either side of Derek's legs, touching. Stiles was taller than Derek now, so the man had to crane his neck upward to trace a line of hot, hungry kisses along the boy's jaw. Realizing his throat was quite vulnerable, Stiles pushed his neck down so his chin rested against his chest, but Derek just grabbed his face his pushed it up again, and started sucking at the pulse in Stiles' neck.

It was clear that they were both incredibly aroused at that point, if the bulge straining in Derek's tight jeans and the tent in Stiles' underwear, causing the Bat symbol to poke outwards, were any indication. Derek paused to undo his own fly and shove his jeans down his hips roughly, and then he ground his pelvis up into Stiles, causing a due amount of friction that made Stiles moan, long and tantalizingly. As Derek continued his upward thrusts, Stiles bit his knuckles, trying to stifle the sounds escaping his throat.

Stiles felt Derek's hands cupping his ass, digging his blunt nails into the plump flesh, trying desperately to pull Stiles down closer. His legs went up around Stiles' waist (damn was he flexible), trapping Stiles against him while he humped the fuck out of him, rutting and grinding and throwing his head back and letting his mouth gape deliciously. He bared his neck to Stiles, and that simple action sent tingles skittering down Stiles' body from head to toe. He realized now how much the Alpha wanted him, _needed _him.

They were both so close already. Stiles let his hand snake down between them and slipped his cock out of his underwear. Then he stuck his hand down Derek's boxer-briefs and grabbed his hard-on firmly, causing Derek to groan. He held both of their dicks in one hand—which was difficult, because his hands weren't terribly big_—_and started thrusting quickly, letting their erections slide together with the help of pre-cum.

But Stiles wasn't the most coordinated: his pace was erratic and he couldn't keep them both in his hand. Derek growled, swatted Stiles' hand away in frustration, and gathered them both in his own larger hand. The werewolf managed to match Stiles' pace perfectly, and after a few hard, fast thrusts, Stiles came, getting cum all over his own abdomen. At the sight of Stiles' eyes rolling back in his head in sheer bliss, his back arching forward, his legs clamping around Derek's thighs, a few last wayward thrusts racking his body, Derek came too, all over Stiles' chest.

Derek let go of Stiles' waist with his legs and pushed him off before the boy could collapse on top of him, not wanting to get his own clothes all spunky. Stiles frowned at the realization that he had been almost completely naked but Derek had kept all his clothes on. The werewolf grabbed one of the shirts from underneath Stiles and used it to clean Stiles off, then worked carefully to get Stiles' sensitive, soft cock back in his underwear. Derek pulled his own pants up while grinning down at the Bat symbol.

"I don't smell Scott at all anymore," Derek said smugly as he lied down next to the drowsy Stiles.

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked, lolling his head to look Derek in the eyes. "I wouldn't mind a repeat performance. We could role play too. Do you have a Catwoman suit?"

"No."

"I don't either. I have a Superman costume. How about you be Superman and I be Batman? But you aren't impenetrable, you just heal. And you're not really fit to be Clark Kent, he's got that whole nice guy thing going for him, and he's kind of geeky. Oh, how about Wolverine?! You would make a great Wolverine."

"Okay." Derek pressed a kiss into his forehead. "Go to sleep."

Stiles didn't need telling twice. He nuzzled his face into Derek's chest, while wrapping himself around the werewolf to absorb some of his constant heat. Derek pulled some of the clothes on top of them to act as a makeshift blanket.

"G'night," Stiles mumbled sleepily.

"Good night, Batman."

END FINAL CHAPTER


End file.
